Not Exactly Mr Sensitive
by Nicole11
Summary: Ron: "Hermione use to scowl at the ditzy girls who's giggling set off her gag relex. She called them shallow and stupid and it was these comments that allowed me to sleep soundly at night. And then...Krum came into the picture." ONE-SHOT RH


Disclaimer: I don't own anything in this story. Not a gosh darn thing. J. K. Rowling is the one who owns everything. Lucky.

Dedicated to: BuckNC because he forced me to see that all of fanfiction does not revolve around the wonderful Draco Malfoy, and that I had been neglecting my beloved Hogwarts couple.

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Now, this may come as a shock to most of you, but I, Ron Weasley, an not a very sensitive bloke. I mean, I honestly can't remember the last time I cried, got all mushy over a fuzzy animal, felt the inclination to 'share my feelings,' or even put the bloody toilet seat down. Though, I suppose that's more courtesy then sensitivity.

The point is, I'm sarcastic. That's what I _do_. But, apparently, that's not what the ladies are biting at now-a-days. They'd rather have some sappy poet who cries during chick flicks and says things like, "you complete me." But, let me tell you, no matter how much I like a girl, there is no way in hell that I'm going to whisper sweet nothings in her ear. Because, if forced to do so, I might just become so disgusted with myself that she ends up with an earful of vomit—and that is definitely not something that leads to a second date.

It sickens me to see girls like Lavender and Parvati go all melty when some guy says something like, "I can't live without you." I mean, no offense girls, but I'm pretty sure that this guy is capable of survival without your presence. He did just fine before he met you, so I think he'll live.

Isn't it obvious to these women that the guys only want to get into their pants? Guys are mindless bastards who only think with one head, and it's not the one on their shoulders. And I can say this because I'm a guy and have first hand experience with these sort of things.

It's hard being a guy. Our minds are on sex twenty-four-seven, leaving very little space for other things such as homework, eating, and sleeping. And girls shouldn't encourage our disgusting behavior by wearing those short little skirts and giggling at everything we say and practically throwing themselves at us when we say some one-liner that—I'm sorry—makes no sense what so ever.

For the longest time, it seemed like Hermione was the only girl who hadn't been brainwashed. She'd scowl at the ditzy girls who's giggling set off her gag reflex. She called them shallow and stupid and it was these comments that allowed me to sleep soundly at night. And then... Krum came into the picture.

That's right—I'm loosing sleep because that Bulgarian bastard hypnotized Hermione with his Quidditch abilities and devilish good looks. As soon as I realized what was happening, I began to loathe Krum with every fiber of my being. I was so busy being angry and taking my name off of the Viktor Krum mailing list that I didn't realize why I was so upset.

At first, I thought that I was just angry because he was taking my friend away from me and, you know, a guy needs his friends. Then, after the dreaded Potions class 4th year where Hermione went all red telling me that Krum told her he'd "never felt this way about anyone else," I thought maybe it was my hate for cheesy one-liners that caused me to not like him.

Finally, during one of the worst detentions of my sixth year, I realized it. I was in the middle of clipping the toenails of one of the Defense Against the Darks Arts teacher's grindylows, and my mind was wandering. I was thinking about the last few years—fourth year mostly. And every word Hermione had said to me was clear as a bell—especially what she yelled at me during the ball.

_"The _enemy_! Honestly—who was the one who was all excited when they saw him arrive? Who was the one who wanted his autograph? Who's got a model of him up in their dormitory?"_

I gasped out loud—not because I'd just discovered that I was actually jealous of Krum the whole time, but because, during my reminiscing, I'd loosened my hold on the grindylow and it head butted me in the stomach.

Once I'd thrown that damn grindylow back in it's tank, I sat down, taking in what I'd just discovered. Hermione was right—as usual. I secretly still did hero worship Krum because he's a damn good Quidditch player. I just wouldn't admit it because he'd swooped in and taken the girl I liked. I'd been Hermione's friend for four years, and Krum came in and she fancied him within four days. I guess it just irked me that she knew everything about me, and still didn't like me.

I walked back to the common room that day with a heavy heart. It's not exactly comforting when you find out you fancy your best friend, but she's already taken by a professional Quidditch player whose richer, more talented, and—let's face it—better looking then you.

It was because of these overwhelming thoughts, that it took me a while to realize that I was already in the Gryffindor common room. Oh, and that there was a sobbing woman on the couch not six feet away from me.

I froze, trying to figure out who this girl was. To tell you the truth, it wasn't too difficult once I registered the mass of bushy brown hair that hung around her face.

"Hermione...?" I asked cautiously, praying that she wouldn't suddenly fling her arms around me and sob into my shirt per usual. I didn't do well with crying woman because, as I already pointed out, I'm not exactly Mr. Sensitive. "Are you...er...not happy?"

I tell ya—I'm a regular Shakespeare with words.

"Viktor," sob "broke up with me!" she cried. I shifted uncomfortably—fighting the strong temptation to beat Krum to a Bulgarian pulp.

"I don't even know why I'm upset." She sobbed suddenly. I furrowed my eyebrows.

"But you just said—"

"I didn't even like him," Hermione added, a bit angrily. I couldn't help but smile slightly while her head was turned. "I was going to break it off, but he did it first." She sighed and sobbed at the same time—making an odd hiccupping noise. "This is such a stupid reason to cry!"

"But that's what you do," I said, thinking I was helping, but, by the glare she sent me, I suppose not. "Well, it's true! Remember fourth year after the first task? You—"

"I'm really not in the mood to reminisce right now, Ron!" she yelled angrily before dissolving in sobs.

Great, I was just making her cry more. What was I suppose to do? Talking just made her cry, seeing as I was a total idiot and had no idea what comforted her. I bet Krum knew what to do—the bastard. No wonder Hermione picked him over me; she cried constantly and she needed someone who wouldn't make the situation worse.

I just sort of stood there awkwardly in front of Hermione as she sobbed herself senseless. Her weeping seemed to echo off of the walls, and the few people that were in the common room kept on looking at me angrily as if I caused it.

I considered doing what I always saw Ginny do whenever Hermione was upset, and put my arms around her in a supportive sort of hug. But I chickened out, too afraid of rejection and thinking she might just push me away.

So there I stood helplessly, not knowing what to do and wishing for the first time in my life that I _was_ one of those sensitive prats so that I could make Hermione feel better. Even though it was a common occurrence, I still hated seeing her cry, and I hated even more that I couldn't make her happy again.

Finally, after what felt like hours of standing there powerlessly, Ginny came walking down from her dormitory and her eyes landed straight on me. She gave me this look as if to say, "Well? Hermione's crying, you idiot, why are you just standing there?"

I just shrugged weakly, and she rolled her eyes as she headed over toward us.

"Hermione, what happened?" Ginny asked in that I-care voice that my mum use to use when we were young and she would find one of us on the floor in a flood of tears.

Hermione told her the whole story, and, with a few supportive sentences, Ginny had calmed her down. I almost felt jealous. How was it possible that someone from my own gene pool can calm down crying women, and I just cause them to cry more?

Surrendering to defeat, I trudged up to my dormitory, the dreams of me maybe being the subject of Hermione's fancy dashed.

As pathetic as it sounds, I couldn't sleep that night. I was so upset about not being the sensitive idiot of Hermione's dreams, that I couldn't clear my mind long enough to doze off.

Finally, at five o'clock in the morning, I gave up on sleeping and instead got dressed. As I did so, I looked around at all of my sleeping roommates. Bastards. The only thing they had to worry about was what they were going to eat for breakfast in the morning, while I slowly died from the unyielding agony of not being the right guy.

Okay, maybe that was slightly dramatic. But I think that at this point in time I had a right to be a bit of a drama queen.....king.

As I clumsily buttoned my shirt for the third time (I'm notorious for missing buttons), I glanced out the window to see something rather odd. A head of hair that could only belong to Hermione Granger herself was bobbing up and down outside as she walked through the snow.

Now, normally, this wouldn't be such a strange sight. But, seeing as it was of an ungodly hour when I thought I was the only sign of life in the castle, I had reason to be confused.

Quickly throwing on my cloak, I rushed down the stairs as quietly as possible—hoping against hope that I wouldn't run into Mrs. Norris, as I wasn't sure if I was suppose to be up and about this early in the morning.

"Hermione!" I called once I was outside and out of the earshot of any sort of cat or creepy caretaker. Her head whipped around and she looked at me with wide eyes as I came running toward her, kicking up snow behind me.

"Ron," she said, looking at me strangely. "What are you doing up so early?"

"I could ask you the same question," I said, sounding oddly like my mother. "What are you doing wandering around at this hour?" Yep, definitely my mum. "You-Know-Who could Apparate right next to you and blast you to smithereens while everyone's still sleeping."

"That's it—for Christmas this year I'm buying you Hogwarts: A History and forcing you to read it." Hermione said, looking rather annoyed. "_You can't Apparate or Disapparate on Hogwarts grounds!_"

I just smiled, already well aware of this fact—seeing as Hermione had actually recited the entire Hogwarts: A History to Harry and I—and just saying it to make her angry. It was just too damn easy.

"So if you're not trying to get yourself killed by You-Know-Who, then what are you doing out here?" I smirked, loving the trademark Hermione-glare she was sending me.

She sighed, gazing off into the Forbidden Forest for a moment before answering.

"Just thinking," Hermione said, a bit melodramatically. I decided that now would be the perfect time for sincere apology.

"I'm sorry that Krum broke up with you," I said.

"No you're not," Hermione said airily. "You hated that I was dating him."

Damn, was my sincerity that transparent?

"Fine," I sighed. "Then I'm sorry that you're upset over Krum breaking up with you."

Hermione shrugged slightly, determining that my last comment was indeed genuine.

"I'll be alright," she said, still not looking at me. "I just need to find something to keep my mind off of it."

I was about to suggest studying, or perhaps verbally abusing both me and Harry, but then it became apparent that this moment was not meant to be wasted on such sarcastic suggestions. Now was the perfect opportunity for me to express the feelings I'd just discovered the night before.

"I can think of something," I said smoothly, silently congratulating my voice on not cracking during such an vital statement.

So, praying that Hermione didn't have some concealed fear of cooties, I leaned in and—God bless my good aim—kissed her.

I think it's safe to say that this was the best moment of my life. And I'm not over exaggerating. The sun was beginning to rise, snow was swirling around the two of us, and for at least three second I felt like I was The One for Hermione. Then, of course, that dream came crashing down when I pulled back and saw that she had tears streaming down her face.

Yep, it wasn't just my mind playing a very cruel and rather immature joke on me—she was actually crying. I suddenly felt oddly like Harry when he kissed Cho-the-human-sprinkler. And the first thought that entered my mind was; was I really that bad at kissing?

"Oh, Merlin," I muttered, my phobia of crying woman coming back full force. "Hermione, I'm so sorry. I didn't know you didn't—I mean, I wouldn't have—er—you know..."

Why was I cursed with both no sensitivity gene and the ability to make an ass out of myself with my inarticulateness?

I was just about to make up an excuse explaining how You-Know-Who had possessed me at that specific moment and forced me to kiss her, when suddenly Hermione gave me a watery smile.

"Don't have a heart attack, Ron," she laughed, fresh tears streaming down her face. Hermione wrapped her arms around my neck and kissed my cheek lightly as I stood there like an idiot, not really sure what was happening. The side of her wet face brushed up against mine as she whispered in my ear, "These are happy tears."

_Fin_

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This is the end (this is the end), there is no more (there is no more), until I meet (until I meet) that ideaforaRonandHermionestory once more (that ideaforaRonandHermionestory once more). This is the end, there is no mooooooore! Until I meet that ideaforaRonandHermionestory once moooooore.


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